


Kiss me

by VictoriaWoodmaine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Jason Walker - Freeform, M/M, Six pence none the richer, kiss me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaWoodmaine/pseuds/VictoriaWoodmaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I want to kiss you, out of the bearded barley. Nightly, beside the green grass...'</p><p>Sherlock uses another song to talk about his feelings.</p><p>My favourite line to write in this fic:<br/>'You are everything I fail to be.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss me

**Author's Note:**

> My second fic.  
> I have no idea if this is sweet or just simply super cheesy.  
> And I don't know if my cake-metaphor is not just totally stupid/weird.
> 
> The original song is by Six pence none the richer. What inspired me though is Jason Walkers version. His music is seriously beautiful and you should really check it out!
> 
> Feedback, praise and critics are very welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> I do not give permission to repost, reproduce or archive this fanfic in part or in it's entirety to any other website except with prior written consent provided by myself, nor any profit be made from any of these works under any circumstances whatsoever.

When John looked up again, Sherlock was staring right at him. He had learned not to be intimidated by 'the look' and usually it would have been an easy task to just stare back. But this wasn't THAT 'look'. It was something new. Some new depth in Sherlock's eyes like the good doctor had never seen before. There was a question in those eyes- a hint of uncertainty and most definately Sherlock tried to tell him 'please don't be another one to reject me' with his beautiful grey-blues. John held his breath. He didn't know what exactly to do now. He had been in quite a few relationships, but never had he found himself in such a tense situation. He thought about what he could say. What he was supposed to say. What was right to say. He opened his mouth. But Sherlock was the first one to speak.

'John...' he hesitated. Thinking about every word. Don't choose the wrong word or he'll just run away. Be human for once!

'Sherlock...'

'No. This is my turn, John. Please.'

'Alright.'

'I...I want to...' he stopped again. Drawing a deep breath. Shutting his eyes for a reassuring second, then opening them again.  
'I want to kiss you. Out of the bearded barley. Nightly. Beside the green grass.'

John chuckled. And immediately stopped himself because Sherlock should not think he was laughing about him. Or his attempt at being romantic. He was opening his heart and he had probably never done this before from what John knew.

'I want to kiss you. Beneath the milky twilight. Lead you onto the moonlit floor and take your open hand. I want to see the sparkle of the silver moon to dance in your eyes like fireflies.'

John was stunned. This was so unexpected yet utterly beautiful that he couldn't stop his eyes from watering.  
'Sherlock...'

'I know I stole this from a song. But the words fit so well to what I feel now...' he took a deep breath. His look changing to be so vulnerable John had to fight the urge to grab him and pull him towards his chest and cradle his curly head to his heart.  
'I am so confused John. Why is this so confusing? Is it like that for everyone or is it just my superior brain trying to tease me?'

This time John gave in to his giggles.  
'No, Sherlock. It's fine. It's terribly confusing, I know. And scary. And as I believe you don't have much expertise on the subject due to a...well, lack of data as you would probably name it, it's probably like when I was 16 and fallen for the first time. I was seriously terrified!'

Sherlock just kept staring at him. Wanting for John to continue.

'I always believed that under that cold mask you keep shoving into everyones consciousness there is a depth of emotion you like to keep hidden away from the world, because you have either been deeply hurt by someone before or you just never had someone to share them with. Either way, Sherlock...it's fine to tell me about it. I want you to know that I will never hurt you. Or laugh about you. I stumbled into this friendship without the slightest idea that I would...' he fell silent. Looked away. His breath slightly shaking. When he looked at Sherlock again, he found the reassurance he needed. He would always need those eyes to look back at him. They meant 'You are home. You're gonna be fine.'

'...find so much more than just that. A friend. I mean, we are friends. And I honestly think I have never had such a trust in another person in my life. Not even my army mates. I know you will always be there, when I need you. And even when you're not there yourself, you'll have something arranged to make sure I'll be there still when you come back. And you'll always come back to me, Sherlock. I know that. Because you need me. And I will always be here. Because I want to be needed by you. I want to be your north pole. I want to be the one to take care of your wounds- physical or mental. Doesn't matter. Because I...'

Sherlocks eyes widened just a bit during his speech. His pupils most definately dilated.

'Because I realised, Sherlock, that you are far more than just a friend, or a flatmate. You ground me. Whenever I'm haunted by the war. Or Moriarty's face as he strapped this sodding bomb around my waist- all I need to do is think of you. Of this flat. Of teacups and newspapers and being chased through London and buying milk and finding fingers in tupperware containers. This is my life. Our life. And I love every second of it. I love being by your side. And it scares the shit out of me, Sherlock, honestly. Because I never felt like this before. Not for every woman in the world. But I figured it out. I know now.'

Another second-long stare.

'I love you.' is all that he adds. And then he waits. Waits for a positive response, because if all this was another charade then John would open one of the windows and jump out onto the street. But no. He knows Sherlock. Knows him better at times, than the man does himself.

'How do you do that?'

Ok, that's not what John expected to hear. 'I love you, too.' would have been perfect. But this?  
'Sorry?'

'How do you find the words to explain what you feel? It seems to be so easy for you.'

'I don't know. I guess for once it's an advantage to be stupid. Not to think. Just to speak.'

'I'm sorry, John.'

And with that, John's heart turned into ice. This could not...he cannot do...

'I never meant to make you feel stupid. I know I said it once or twice, but you are far from stupid! John you might not be able to do what I can do- and sometimes I envy you for that- but you are a genius in so many other ways. You are perfect in every sense that I am an utter idiot. You have the heart- the consciousness to be gentle with people, to make them comfortable, to earn their trust, and to truly NOT mean to make use of that trust like I do. You are charming, I guess one could say. You hold me back, when I am about to go too far. You back me up when I am socially awkward. You keep me from embarrasing myself completely. You care for me like my own mother never could, like my brother used to when we still shared rooms. But you are so much better. You bring a level of expertise to so many things I lost count. You are everything I fail to be. You are my heart. If I understood one thing about all this love-concept, one usually metaphorically gives their heart to their significant other. I don't need to do that.' He took John's hand into his. Caressed the back of it with his thumb.

'I don't need to do that, because I never considered myself to have one. I was wrong though, John. I never had it with myself, because it has always been with you. You have always been the vessel to carry my heart. It all lead to the moment we met. Like magnetic particles drawn to each other. You found me. And with every second you spend with me, you show me that I never, ever in my life want to lose you again. Because I would lose my heart, my sense and my joy. That's what you are to me...is...is that okay?'

John regarded him for a moment.  
'Of course, love.'

Sherlocks eyes widened once more. It took him the fracture of a second to understand that his confession wasn't taken the wrong way. That indeed the sentiment was returned just as he had desperately hoped and that John shared that same burning longing that he had been feeling for so long.

'So what now?' he asked. A little unsure of what to do next.

'How about a kiss?' John suggested with a sheepish yet uncertain grin.

'Oh. Alright. Erm...' Sherlock hesitated.

'Don't worry. Sherlock. This is the first time for me to kiss another man aswell. Though I have a general idea of how this works, as you can imagine from the girlfriends that I had. But still- this is...'

'Odd?' Sherlock remarked.

'Yeah.' John agreed with an honest grin.

'Ok, so...I suppose one has to get a little closer from what I have seen on telly.'

'Good observation. Well done.' Another grin. 'Don't...worry, Sherlock. This is going to be nice. A nice...sensation. Just follow my lead, ok?' he regarded him intensely. 

Sherlock gave him an annoyed look. 'Alright you genius. Just this one time, ok? I'm the expert here.'

'Clearly. Jugding by the enormous number of women you brought here over the last two years.'

'Sherlock...' John warned him. 'This is not the time...'

Sherlock inched closer. His eyes searching John's. 'I'm just teasing you, John. I tend to do that, when I'm nervous. I am...nervous right now...Very much to be honest.' He drew a deep breath. John's hand came up to cup his cheek. Sherlock closed his eyes- lost in the moment. Enchanted by this touch that he had craved for for so long. A feeling that was new to him and yet he knew from the moment he had met John that he wanted to have his hand in this exact place. He had always wanted to feel the comfort of a hand or a hug or a kiss without knowing it. Not until John entered his life and had given him an epiphany of that sort. But every human being seeks the comfort and the reassurance of a mate. No matter how cold or detached one wants to appear. Deep down all we ever want is to be loved. And to be able to love in return. All the blissful craze that comes with it. It's what keeps us going. It's the fuel to our engines, the icing on our cake. Sherlock admittedly has a sweettooth, so the methaphor fits as well. Cake without icing is great. It's tasty and enjoyable and worth to keep looking for. But cake with icing is just so much more. It's sweet, decadent and moreish. Something you can't stop consuming and eventually become sick of- yet you never regret it. And you'll always come back around to do it again. Sherlock loses himself in a memory of his childhood. Mycroft and him fighting over the bowl with the remains of the cakebatter their mum had just poured into the tin.

'Sherlock?' John brings him back to reality.

'Hm? What? Sorry. I got lost.'

'Lost in your mind palace?'

'Lost in the sensation, I guess.' He beamed at John. 'But I am prepared to store everything that's going to happen in my 'never to forget-ever' room of the palace.' 

Now it was John's time to beam.

'You are so sweet when you have your guard down. Sometimes I wish other people could see that side of you. It's amazing to witness. On the other hand- you only do it for me, it's precious. So I guess, jealous as I tend to be- other people don't deserve to see you like this. It's my priviledge alone.'

'Quite right. I do it for you, because I know it's safe to be like this when I'm with you. You won't laugh. And you give me so much, John. No one else deserves my smiles more than you...'

Sherlock barely finished his sentence, when John added his other hand to his face and pulled him as close as possible without touching. Their breaths mingled together. A pleasant mixture of tea, tobacco and John's mint mouthwash. Traces of shortbread and lamb. They really had odd eating habits.

'This is really happening, is it?' Sherlock asked a little unsure.

'Unless you want me to stop...?' John teased.

'Don't you dare!' Sherlock wanted to protest, but he was silenced by a pair of soft lips gently pressed to his own. His brain went offline and his mind came to a sudden halt. All he was aware of were those lips- those incredibly soft, slightly slick lips- touching his own. Their warmth and taste. The little sound of content that John made without being aware of it. All this he rapidly stored in his palace. In the room that was his childhood bedroom, for there he stored all the memories that were dear to him, from his first concious moments on. He held his breath, overwhelmed by the sensation, until John withdrew his mouth and inhaled sharply.

'Sherlock...' he began, slowly opening his eyes. He found the other man just as debauched by their kiss as he felt himself.

'John...'

'Yeah, I see you're just as baffled as I am.'

'I can't seem to form a coherent thought right now.'

'Me too.' He hesitated. Looked down. Back up again. 'Want to kiss some more?'

'To repeat your very own words, John. Oh, god, yes.'


End file.
